"When pain whispers for too long... it becomes a voice inside you."
⸻
It was close to sunset.
The sky was gray, and the streets seemed to be quietly dying.
Luin walked alone.
Inside... he was not.
⸻
Since that night, he hadn't slept well.
They weren't nightmares... they were distorted memories,
emerging from the darkness like smoke you can't grasp,
but whose smell clings to your clothes.
⸻
He saw the child's face, he saw the blood,
but what hurt him most was the feeling that followed:
"It wasn't fear... it was something else."
⸻
The words in his mind at that moment still returned every night:
"Your pain... is the key to your seal."
⸻
He stopped in front of a pool of stagnant water at the side of the road.
He stared at his blurred reflection.
Then he noticed something strange on his forearm.
A black line...
No, not a line. A complex circular symbol, like an old tattoo pulsing beneath his skin.
He blinked.
Then it disappeared.
⸻
"Am I imagining things?"
"Or is what's inside me finally starting to speak?"
⸻
He returned to his small room, above a dilapidated carpenter's workshop.
He sat on his worn bed, staring at the wall as if waiting for an answer.
⸻
Then... the voice came.
Not from outside.
But from beneath his skin.
From something older than memory itself.
"Seven wounds..."
"Each one bears a mark..."
"And you... opened the first."
⸻
He rose in terror.
His breathing grew heavy, as if he were drowning.
"Who... who are you?"
"Why me?"
"I didn't ask for this!"
But no one answered.
The voice withdrew, as if it had never been there.
⸻
Silence returned... but it no longer brought comfort.
⸻
Night had fallen.
The light from oil lamps cast a dim glow on broken alleys.
The wind crept through wooden doors, carrying an unjustified coldness...
as if it came from the heart of something dead.
⸻
He couldn't stay inside.
The walls seemed to press down on his chest,
as if something was waiting just beyond the door.
⸻
He entered the old bar on the corner — "The Fox's Tail,"
hardly anyone came here after sunset.
Yet, there was something familiar... something comforting.
⸻
Behind the antique counter stood a large, bald man with a thick gray beard.
Gildro.
He looked at him expressionlessly, but his eyes hinted he had seen more than he would say.
His deep voice filled the room:
"Your face looks like the sky above us... tired."
He poured a light drink and slid it across the counter without another word.
"Sometimes... when something strange happens to a person, they try to run from it."
"But the things born inside us... they never run."
⸻
He looked up, startled.
"And you... how do you know about the things that are born within us?"
⸻
Gildro smiled faintly, but his eyes stayed serious.
"I was a knight once, many years ago.
I studied faces... and noticed something unusual in people's eyes.
Something that wasn't theirs."
He paused, then added:
"When you see your reflection and notice something strange...
don't ignore it.
Not every mirror lies."
⸻
He stared at the glass in front of him,
as if the red liquid reflected something deeper than a mere drink.
"I didn't order this," he muttered.
⸻
Gildro didn't answer.
But his eyes shifted toward the window, as if sensing something beyond.
"We don't always choose... but we always pay the price."
⸻
Outside, a man wearing a simple church uniform passed by.
His face unclear.
Yet, the air in the room felt different — charged with something unseen.
⸻
Gildro stood and quietly closed the window.
"The city is waking up... and the people who are asleep are the first to break."
⸻
End of Chapter Three
____________________________________________________________________
Hey everyone!
Thanks for reading the first three chapters — it means a lot.
I hope you enjoy following Luin's journey… there's more to come, and I can't wait to share it with you!
— Luin's Author